Not that the two of you were really something, but there was something—and that was enough, you thought so, at least. Patrick has always been there for you, even before Stanford, 'cause you were the most important thing to him at some point.

The riddle was in the air, his passion wasn't just tennis. It was the fact that he could be with Art, Tashi and their usual platonic love, he also loved you, he just wasn't sure how much.

Unanswered texts, excuses not to go out with you, it was all about tennis, tennis, tennis. All of this because he knew he was a fucking coward, the kind who would still have the courage to knock on your dorm door late at night hoping your eyes would still light up when you saw him. What was one more problem to add to the huge list he had?

It was even worse when you let him back in, only to have him leave once more 'cause you seemed more fun when you weren't demanding affection and attention from him. He said in so many words that you were everything to him, so you assumed that was no longer true or was already a lie.

And, this time, you thought it was over, really over. Only to hear his distinctive knock on your door, even when he wasn't even supposed to be there—and, maybe, he just had no other choice. “Go away.” You said, visibly angry as you opened the door as little as possible—not even looking at him enough.

Patrick's smug smile disappeared automatically, this time he understood that a lame excuse wouldn't work on you. The only thing he did was hold the door before you closed it in his face, even though he deserved it. “Why?” He questioned, his confusion more forced than the last time he lied and said he would spend more time with you.

He was a compulsive liar, perhaps even an excessive manipulator. You were his lapdog for way too long to notice his problem. “Why are you so mad at me? I can make it up to you, I promise.” More blatant lies came out of his mouth, as if it was nothing to him and it probably really wasn't. “Please, sweetheart. Let me in?”